Lost and Forgotten
by Some Crazy Lady
Summary: A young knight disguised as a man is captured by slave traders and brought to Rome. After becoming one of Rome’s most notorious gladiators she is sent back on a mission to Britain. But the mission soon becomes harder then she expected.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

Summery: A young knight disguised as a man is captured by slave traders and brought to Rome. After becoming one of Rome's most notorious gladiators she is sent back on a mission to Britain. But the mission soon becomes harder then she expected, especially when the knights find out who she really is.

Disclaimer: We all know who this story belongs to, and so I don't own the characters in the plot besides the ones I make myself. Cheerio.

Authors Note: The character is indeed a female, and she only refers to herself as such in her own point of view. Only Dagonet knows that she isn't male.

And a special thanks to my beta reader the holy see.

--

The sun was hot on their backs, the humid breeze doing nothing to rid them of the sweat that lined their faces. Hadrian's wall stood proud against the summer sky, its stone walls the same gold as the wheat being harvested around them.

Blisters burned on her palms from the constant movement of the scythe onto the golden wheat. Looking up she cracked her back, a low sigh coming to her features as she inspected the water filled blisters that lined her palms.

Every summer, when the wheat fields were ready to be harvested the knights would help, and so every year she had taken up one of the old scythes that the villagers would lend her and chop wheat strand after wheat strand until the harvesting was finally done.

It was modest work; work that Lancelot openly joked about to keep them out of trouble. He was, of course, right. Bors, Lancelot and Galahad had a habit of getting into trouble when there was no work to be done.

Cracking her back for the second time, she turned her face away from the sun, the red burn across her nose throbbing with pain as she fingered it. It had been a long day but still the summer sun was high in the sky beating down on them with little compassion for their skin.

They had been at it all week and at first it had seemed as if the wheat would never end. But after a time it became less and less. They would be done by tomorrow, hopefully.

--

"This is an outrage." Lancelot muttered over his wine, before finishing the mug. The sun had finally settled to the west, but the day's heat was still fresh in the night. The constant press of humidity was bringing out the worst of their tempers.

"We work all day, and what does Arthur do?" He asked Bors who was obviously drunk on the other side of the table, his head resting on the wooden plank as a bar maid dropped a pitcher by his head. He let out a low groan.

"He sits in his room all day and does nothing!" Lancelot said answering his own question. Sighing, the knight beside him rubbed her temples, a clear eye roll going towards her friend as he continued to rant.

He had been at it all week, and personally Mark had had enough of it. She was sure that Arthur had better things to do then cut wheat all day, and yet at first Lancelot's constant questioning had really started to get the knights rallied up. But now a week later no one gave two cents about it anymore. In fact, Gawain had already started to pay the knight to keep his mouth shut.

"You going to finish that Mark?" Galahad asked, pointing to the mug of wine that was still full in front of her. Pushing it towards him as a clear answer, she shook her head at the disgruntled Bors who had dragged Verona onto his lap.

--

Once again they were out on the field, Mark keeping her distance from the other knights as she knew that clothing would soon be removed. Something that she had made clear she wasn't going to do in front of them but they had ignored.

They teased her often about her modesty and the need to keep all her clothes on, and she always had her reasons to do so. She was the only one who never left with a whore from the tavern and she planned to keep it that way.

True a couple of the bars wenches had come on to her, not knowing who she really was. But she had politely declined them, and eventually they had left her alone.

In the past eight years she had managed to avoid as much harm as possible, only Dagonet knew her secret. After all even the best of knights had gotten hurt in the battle field and it was unavoidable at best. But he was a good friend and he kept it a secret and for that Mark thanked him.

Once again the labour was hard, but they kept at it only stopping for a mid day meal. Their change in pace from yesterday was because of the hope that they would finish today. Even if Lancelot's swears could still be heard from where she was.

--

Three men stood in between the branches of the trees, they're eyes never leaving the wheat fields as they watched the labour. They were Roman men, dressed in modest colours. The only thing special about them were the swords that hung at their sides.

It was obvious to anyone who had ever held a sword that they were rich. The swords they carried were made of only the best iron and their sheathes were covered with carvings of Roman triumphs that would never be forgotten.

They were slave traders, people who roamed country after country kidnapping people to bring back to Rome. It was a risky business; two of their kin had already been killed on this particular journey but they thought nothing of it.

Their leader had a new plan though. Rome had heard many stories of Arthur and his legendary knights. But they were stories and Rome had denied all of them, save the ones that made them look better. But if the stories were true then capturing one of them would bring them a lot of money. A gladiator that was already trained was extremely valuable in Rome.

Not only would the owner not have to waste time and money on them, but they would also be ready to fight in mere days. It was an investment that he was not going to miss.

His men had been hesitant to capture one of the knights, reminding the leader of the stories and the legends that they had grown up on. They were gods one of them had told him, men that could not be captured. But then gods could not be killed and eventually he had convinced them to do his bidding.

--

They had been watching the knights for two days now, always in the trees always waiting for their moment. They hadn't picked out a target yet but had decided to wait for one of them to enter the trees for one business or another.

And then their chance came, on the last day one of the knights entered the woods. It was obvious what for, but the men were surprised when the dirty blond hair knight went even further into the trees then they had expected.

They followed on foot; expertly trained, they made no noise as they landed on the forest floor, leather shoes padding their feet as they moved slowly after the man.

He was barely a man, his lean frame and awkward muscles made him almost graceful as he continued down the path. He didn't notice them or so the slave traders thought. Though every now and then the knight would turn his head to look behind him.

They caught up with him in a clearing, signalling for his men to attack. The leader stepped forward, bringing a dagger to the man's neck as his companions covered his mouth with a gag.

--

Galahad had thought nothing of it when they had seen Mark disappear into the trees. It was obvious what he was going to do, and so after cracking his back Galahad once again set to work.

It was only after an hour that the knights began to get worried. At first Lancelot made jokes about how Mark needed time for his self, or that he was meeting a Woad woman in the forest. But after another half an hour it soon became obvious that he himself was getting worried.

They first sent Tristan in to take a look around, but when he came out empty handed the small band of knights grew more worried. For a while they argued on what to do, but it soon became clear that they were wasting time.

Despite the pleas and the reassurances of the villagers that had been cutting the grain with them, they left. Knowing that if something truly had happened to Mark they would have very little time in relocating him.

--

She woke with a start, but all she was met with was darkness. The back of her head throbbed as she tried to pull against her bonds. The leather straps cutting into her wrists as she tried to sit up. Something heavy pushed her back down, causing the wind to be knocked out of her lungs.

She heard laughter the flick of a whip against a horses flank. She was moving, possibly in a carriage of some sort. The heavy cloth blind fold around her eyes frustrating her as she stared into empty darkness.

She felt hands against her head, prodding at the wound where they had hit her over the head. She had fought, she could remember that, as she had drawn a dagger and gutted one of the men before being hit over the head. There was more prodding, her body wincing at the familiar sting of alcohol against the wound.

"You idiots." She heard a man's voice gruff against her ears. There was more laughter and the prodding stopped as she was laid back against the ground.

"You could have killed him." The same voice said and if she was correct he was right above her.

She heard a snort as a reply, her head turning towards the noise. "I thought the Sarmatian knights were gods." The man mocked his voice dripping with sarcasm. Hearing him move she gritted her teeth as she felt the tip of his shoe press into her rib.

"Besides he's not dead yet." Another laugh, not from either of the men above her. She heard a sigh, a hint of frustration. These men were obviously not close, and she could only rejoice at the fact. It could lead to her escape, but first she had to see something.

"He needs something to eat." She heard. Another snort as an answer, heavy boots pounding against the wood planks that mimicked a floor as she heard a man leave.

--

They had been searching for a week, their horses tired from hours of galloping. But they could find no sign of the man that had been a friend, a knight and a man they had all respected.

They had no body to bury, not even his sword could be found. To be mounted on a mock grave which they would have made. It seemed that Mark had dropped off the face of the earth. Had disappeared with out a word, even Galahad had been surprised when Tristan hadn't been able to find a trail. He had simply disappeared and that's what frustrated them the most.

A week after Mark's disappearance they came back to the wall, the wheat had been harvested, once gold fields now brown with freshly turned dirt. Hadrian's wall stood as proud as ever, the sun beating down on they're necks as they took the same dirt road to they're fort.

Night came and with it came the booze. But no laughter could be heard in the crowded Tavern. Even Arthur came for a drink that night, the knights sitting around a table as they talked amongst themselves. Drinks were passed around as well as stories that even made Tristan laugh as they remembered their friend.

"Perhaps he did what he always said he would do." Gawain suddenly said after finished another mug of ale.

"And what is that?" Arthur asked, his eyes flicking over to his friend.

"That he would escape and go back home."

--

Authors Note: I still haven't thought of a decent female name for her, if you have any ideas I'd love to hear them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

--

They had kept her eyes hidden for what seemed to her as weeks. The never ending darkness causing her to become paranoid and nervous. She couldn't see where she was and where she was going, nor the people that had captured it.

It was slowly driving her insane. They even fed her, food that she couldn't see and couldn't rely on. Day after day she would try to escape, and each time she would fail.

Someone was always watching, recording her every move it seemed. And each time she would strain the tight leather bonds around her wrist or try to get up she was pushed back down. The bonds tightened.

There were other people in the carriage, she could hear them. Though she had no idea who they were. Every now and then she would hear a child cry, and every now and then her heart would freeze.

By the end of what seemed like a week she was tied by chains against the wall of the carriage. Her constant escape plans had obviously gotten onto the nerves of her captors.

From then on there was little she could do, try as she might her efforts had gone with little success and it frustrated her.

Once she had been chained to the wall she gave up. Her body becoming limb against the chains. Hoping that maybe she could gain they're trust just enough for them to take off the blind fold.

She did what she was told, her mind though still wheeling with possibilities as she waited for her chance.

--

Summer was Woad season, and now that the wheat was cut the knights spent very little time at the wall. They we're constantly called out to fight, villages were raided and Roman individuals killed much to Galahads delight.

Over the past three weeks, the knights had gotten used to Mark's absence. And although they all doubt that he truly had run away like Gawain had suggested. It was a great almost fantasy like idea that they had decided to believe.

The knights were always on the look out though, in case they ever caught a sight of the dirt blond haired boy.

Dagonet was more silent then usual, to the amazement of the other knights, it was only once Mark had disappeared had Dagonet truly started to miss her.

But he had been thinking, if he should tell the knights or not. After all she had trusted him with her secret. But now that she was gone it seemed almost impossible to keep it hidden. From them, did they really deserve to know the truth? He couldn't say, and yet he yearned to tell them as if there was a heavy weight upon his shoulders.

The sun's light was finally dying when they made it back to the wall that evening. The last of the villagers making their way across the fields to the wall as the knights came riding in.

It was a hot summer night, and the horses flanks where hot from the sun. They spent at least an hour to cool down their horses which had become a habit during the summer months, and by the time they had finished the moon was starting to rise.

From there they went their separate ways. But Dagonet mind was still filled with thoughts, and so he hung back. The bristles on the comb making clean lines against his horses back.

For another hour he stayed in the stables, when his own horse could be cleaned no longer he made sure that the others were done. He filled water barrels and food containers, and by the end of it even the stable boy was giving him odd looks.

He left soon after. The moon was only a crescent that night but it managed to light the night sky as if it was full. Only the odd cloud betraying the clear summer sky as he walked.

Dagonet could have found his way even without the moon. The streets almost deserted by human life as he turned a corner.

He was going to talk to Arthur. He was a man that would know what to do, and Dagonet knew that he could trust him with Mark's secret.

--

It took her two weeks to gain their trust. Three weeks after she had been captured things changed. The small wagon became more crowded. More women and children were introduced. Less food was passed around during meals and the small wagon soon smelt of feces and urine.

She had started talking to the women beside her. The women had first been afraid of her, she hadn't known why. But once Mark had managed to get the name of the young women it was clear that she was actually quiet loosed tongued.

Her name was Alba and she had been captured when her village had been raided. She had two children, both boys but she didn't know where they where. She wasn't blind folded though, and she would often tell Mark how they're captures looked, how many there were and who was around them. To Mark's surprise Alba did not demand a history from her.

One morning Mark was awoken by Alba, blinking the sleep from her eyes she pulled herself into a sleeping position. Her face turning towards the women even if she couldn't see her.

"More were captured last night, I awoke you because otherwise you wouldn't eat." Alba said easily. Nodding her agreement Mark allowed herself to relax. An unconvincing smile coming to her face as thanks.

"They were arguing about it last night, you know." Alba continued, her voice airy and easy as if she was just talking about the weather. "They're running out of food, apparently they're going to have to raid more villages soon."

Hearing the thump of footsteps on the wood floor of the wagon Mark waited for the clatter of a bowl in front of her. She was surprised though, when the blindfold was pulled from her eyes. Her eyes burned with the sudden amount of light that her eyes just couldn't filter out. She was then untied, pulled to her feet and brought outside.

--

The halls as always seemed as if they would go on forever. The knights and the Roman soldiers both shared the same building and so the sheer amount of rooms was almost overwhelming. Arthur's room was at the end of the hall, past the hall that housed the round table and up a flight of stairs.

The door to Arthur's room was shut, but the flickering of candle light from under the door way could be easily seen. Tapping lightly at the door, he waited for it to be opened.

"Dagonet, what is it?" Arthur asked, after opening the door. He didn't look like the hero that so many people thought him to be. His hair messy and ink covered his face. Smiling at his commander he watched the man for a second before speaking.

"May I come in?" He didn't want to be over heard, if the maids got out everyone would know in the fort in a day's time. They gossiped too much in his opinion and over the years he had learned that no part of the ancient hallways were safe.

"Of course." Was his bleak reply and Arthur made room for him through the doorway. Stepping through he made his way to the small seating area that occupied half of the room.

His room wasn't anything glamorous; pigeonholes covered the walls, which had been stuffed with old Latin scrolls, which Arthur was particularly fond of reading. His desk was cluttered with them as well, a quill and an ink jar beside them.

"Is something wrong Dagonet? You've been acting strange recently." Arthur asked tilting his head to the side as he waited for his friend to speak up. It was not like Dagonet to be so silent. True the man had a gentle giant aspect to him, but not like this. This seemed almost too odd to Arthur.

"Its about Mark." Dagonet said, his voice clear yet barely a whisper. Arthur was surprised; Dagonet clearly did not want anyone to know. But what about Mark could put his friend on such an edge? What could cause him to act so differently?

"Go on." Arthur answered his voice mimicking his friends as he sat down. Motioning for his friend to do the same, it seemed serious and Arthur truly hoped not. But it seemed like the only explanation for what was going on.

"Arthur, Mark was not a male he or rather she was a female." Dagonet suddenly bluntly said while sitting down. Arthur had been expecting something serious, but this. It took him by surprise an empty silence littering the room as Arthur absorbed the information.

"How do you know this?" He asked, the surprised expression not leaving his face as he studied his friend's own expression. But it seemed that he was being completely serious and honest about it.

If it had been Lancelot in Dagonet's place he would have asked if he was joking. But it seemed very clear to Arthur that Dagonet would not joke about such a thing, especially when he was wearing such an expression on his face.

"Three years ago, Mark was badly injured. She received an arrow right under the collarbone. It was impossible for me to extract the arrow head with out me noticing something."

She, it seemed almost strange to say the word for Dagonet. For years he had known and yet it had played no permanent effect on his life. It had been a spare bit of information in the back of his mind that he had promised not to reveal.

Arthur only nodded, though it was clear by the expression on his face that he was still in a state of shock. Dagonet didn't blame him it had shocked him to when he had first found out. But Mark had been a good friend, and after explaining how she had gotten into such a position he had accepted it.

"What's her name?" Arthur asked, his eyes flicking down to his ink stained hands.

"I don't know, she never told me."

--

The sun was warm against her skin, the breeze cool, her eyes still burning slightly with the light. They had tied her to a tree, their silhouettes in the distance as the talked to each other. She didn't know what she would soon be up against. But she knew it must be important. At least for them.

But she spent as little time as possible focusing on her captures. Studying her surroundings took little time. Though she had no idea where she was. It was a forest; the caravan had at least ten carriages. She could only presume that the slaves went into the hundreds.

Her bonds were tight, as always the gag across her mouth bitter against her tongue. She could barley move against her bonds and so she allowed herself to relax slightly. Taking in the fresh air like a fish being returned to water. The carriage had been almost as horrible as the Hell that Arthur so deeply feared. In fact she felt lucky to get out alive.

The men were done talking their silhouettes coming closer to her. Raising her head to them she felt her bonds being released. Picking her up by the hair, they wrapped her hands in more leather straps before pulling her along like a dog on a leash. It didn't surprised her, not one of them said a word to her.

Her legs stretching to keep up as they kept the quick pace. Her knees and legs stiff from sitting so long, it felt almost as if they were torturing her. Bringing her to a small clearing a good twenty yards from the carriages the leader began to talk.

"You were one of Arthur's knights correct?" He asked, forcefully lifting her chin to look her in the eye.

"Were?" She asked, a sneer coming to her face."I am one of Arthur's knights and I demand to know where you are taking me." She snapped, hoping to get some lee way over the situation. All she received was a slap across the face, her lip splitting as the taste of copper flooded her mouth. "Wrong answer you bastard." The leader replied forcing her to her knees.

"We need your help." Another man said next. He was shorter then the leader, but it seemed that he had just as much authority in the group. His handsome features and strong build standing over her with the same air that Bors gave to others. "With what?" She asked the sneer upon her face morphing into a frown as she studied the men above her.

"Gaul's have been following us for days, and they have finally caught up with us. We need you to help us defend the carriages." The leader said, his voice booming over her, his eyes not hiding his obvious study of her.

"And why would I do that?" She snapped, the proposition came as a total surprise to her. These men wanted her help, men that had captured her for obvious reasons. To sell her as a slave to Rome, and she was suppose to help them with their journey.

"Because if you don't help us, every women in those carriages will be raped. Every man killed and every child sold into slavery. Even you will not be able to escape."

"As if you're not doing that yourself." She replied, angry all of a sudden as they tried to black mail her into doing something that was against all her morals. She was nothing but an investment for them, a way to make money. She received another slap for the comment, her mood only becoming more foul as she waited for they're reply.

She knew there was no way out of helping her captors. They could simply kill her if she protested, and she would rather help them then allow everyone in these carriages to die at the hands of the Gaul's. But maybe she could get something out of it. Maybe she could escape.

"Actually a virgin in Rome is worth a lot more then a broken women." Was the leaders only reply.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

--

The bare flanks of the heavy set horse between her legs gave her a strange comfort. Her ripped breeches a thin barrier between her own skin and the horses flanks.

The horse was nothing more then a cart horse and had likely never seen any blood before in its life. It seemed nervous beneath her, the thick rope of the reins tugging deep lines against her bare hands.

They had given her sword back to her, the strong metal currently nothing more then a comforting weight by her side. She looked strange next to her captors, their expensive armour and unique weaponry must have cost a fortune.

The horses they sat upon were impressive and especially bred for war. Sweat dripped down her shirt as she became more and more nervous, the beating of distant drums causing her horse to panic beneath her.

They had given her nothing but her sword to protect herself with. Hearing heavy hoof beats, she turned seeing the leader of her captors, she frowned before turning away. Her captors had brought the carriages three miles up the road.

Half of the men hiding among the bushes crouched ready to ambush any Gauls if they made it that far. But Mark had her own problems; she meant to escape in the heat of the battle.

It was unlikely that she would get very far, especially considering how close these men were watching her. However she needed to try at the very least; she simply could not accept her fate so easily.

She needed to at least try and get back to Sarmatia. Wrapping a hand around the hilt of her sword, she allowed the cool metal to calm her, the heavy metal against her left hip a satisfying comfort that she would welcome if she ended up in Rome.

They had stationed themselves in a small clearing that the road had come through. A handful of archers had stationed themselves in the trees, hidden by the summer leaves as they waited for their targets to appear.

They were getting closer with the beat of drums and horse hooves easily heard. Mark had even managed to spot a scout among the trees.

Mark had said nothing about it to her captors though. It took less then three minutes after for the Gaul to appear. There weren't many of them, but Mark could see why they had needed her.

If anything it was more like a staring contest at first. The large almost giant like Gaul seemed surprised by their presence. Her captors waited nervously for them to make the first move.

It was almost pathetic, and Mark could not recall something like this ever happening to her before. Digging her nails into the reins, she allowed herself to stare.

Her breath caught in her throat as an arrow suddenly came flying towards them. Hearing the cry of a horse behind her, she pulled out her sword. Her horse pranced nervously from side to side before she kicked it into a gallop.

She led the charge that quickly erupted from the small group. The clearing was small and so it took her little more then a couple seconds before she made it into the crowd.

Beheading a Gaul easily, she continued to cut and hack her way through the crowd, swords and axes coming up to meet her own as she fought her way through.

They where not very well trained, having only raided villages and towns, they very rarely met anyone worth fighting.

Using brute force more then anything, it was hard enough fighting these giant like monsters, they didn't even need training. Clearing her way through the crowd, she turned her horse back towards it. Sweat pouring down her face as she lifted her sword to meet the axe of a giant.

--

A wolf howled in the distance, causing Tristan wake from his dreamless slumber. Cursing under her breath, he got to his feet, his eyes dancing towards the trees when he heard a similar noise, only clearer.

Lancelot was suppose to be on guard, but he was no where to be seen. Sitting next to the pile of barely glowing embers that had once been a fire, Tristan kicked at them, a hiss coming from them as if demanding more fuel.

Ignoring the animas demands he wrapped himself in his cloak. Summer had passed, and fall had quickly followed, the beautiful summer sky disappearing behind curtains of rain that would likely continue until the next year.

It was a cloudy night, but thankfully the rain had kept itself to a minimum. He doubted it would keep up till tomorrow but he was happy that he had managed to sleep for a couple hours. It would make the ride home that much more enjoyable.

It would be a couple more hours before dawn, but Tristan was completely willing to wait, knowing by habit that once he had gotten up there wasn't a chance he could get back to sleep.

Once again he heard the howl of the wolf, causing a horse to whine in fright from behind him. Getting up to sooth the animal he frowned when he heard a yelp in the bush. Turning towards the noise he frowned, his hand grabbing at the dagger by his side.

Rustling, the parting of bushes with an unsteady hand. The amount of noise surprised Tristan, caused him to put his dagger back and pull out his sword. It was only when the animal lay at his feet, arrows embedded in his skin did the knight remember to breath.

"I believe they are Gaul arrows, but I could be wrong." Tristan muttered before pulling one out of the wolf's flanks. Inspecting the tip he frowned at the jagged edge.

"But this one here seems Roman." He continued, pointing to the arrow that was furthest embedded into the wolf's body.

"But the Gauls tend to loot arrows when they kill people." Arthur said, looking over the dead body.

"Either way I say we move, I don't want to meet any of the Gaul or Romans for that matter." Lancelot cut in, rolling his eyes Tristan pulled the last arrow from the body.

"I agree." Arthur nodded, studying the body one more time before lifting his head towards his knights. "Pack your things, we leave in an hour."

--

She woke up late in the night, the stars glittering through the forest trees. Groaning lightly at the throbbing pain in her head, she pushed herself into a sitting position.

A burning pain suddenly bloomed in her ribs and she fell back down. She could see the carriages from the corner of her eyes, a heavy metal cuff around her ankle tying her to a tree as she stared up into the sky.

She heard someone come towards her and turned her head in their direction. Her head pounded at every footstep that he took towards her.

Closing her eyes before opening them again to study the man that bent down beside her, she was more than surprised when he pressed a cup of water to her lips.

"Where are we?" She coughed, after finishing the water. Her eyes studying her surroundings, as she looked for some sort of landmark that might just hint to her where they were.

"French Gaul," he replied with a shrug, shaking the last drops of water from the cup.

"Already?" she asked, surprised by how far they had come. He shrugged again ignoring the comment.

"When do we arrive in Rome?" She asked, knowing this was her only chance to ask questions.

"A couple weeks, give or take," he said before he turned to leave.

Gritting her teeth she laid back down, the sky above her shining.

She couldn't exactly remember what had happened. She knew her horse was dead and that it had fallen on top of her. But there wasn't much else she could remember; she was lucky to be alive.

In just hours she was returned to the carriage, new bandages wrapped around the wounds that she had. Alba was not a woman she expected and it almost made Mark smile.

She had though Alba as someone entirely different. But Alba was the last thing Mark would have imagined. Her blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes would have made Lancelot go crazy.

Her captors did not tie her to wall like they had before opting this time to tie her hands and feet together in leather bonds that dug into her arms and legs.

It was strange to see the people around her, the ones she knew and not known existed. There were more people then she had expected. Some were sleeping; others were barely able to stay awake due to the obvious lack of food.

They didn't move for another hour or two, it seemed like ages till they got anywhere. The sudden beat of horse's hooves against the dirt road and the movement of the carriage startled her from her sleep.

--

Gawain had never been good at these things, but after four months it was obvious to everyone that Mark wasn't coming back. Arthur announced his death three days after they got back to the wall.

They had dug a grave, turned the earth. Even if there was no one to bury, Lancelot had broken into his room, taking his sword to place deep into the earth. Like the others it was doomed to rust, but it was a memory of a friend they would all soon try to forget.

Gawain had stayed behind, allowing the others to disappear to the tavern. He didn't exactly know what to do with a grave that held no body. But it seemed strange to remember a man, a friend that could still be alive.

He probably spent too much time there, thinking about home, family and why he didn't just leave. It slowly became dark, leaving the knight with little warmth. He left the grave, but instead of joining his friends he went where he knew no one else would be.

--

The stables were abandoned this late at night, some of the horses already half asleep, illuminated under the torch light. Their tails still flicked casually against the flies that settled on their coats.

Though his horse came to greet him, Gawain spent little time with the beast, instead turning to a horse that had normally ignored him.

The large beast raised its head from its nap when Gawain pushed in the stable door. Staring him down, the horse got to its feet, towering over the knight while inspecting him.

The horse snorted, as if to ask 'what do you want?' Gawain could only smile, pushing a handful of oats to the horse's snout who chewed it down with out a thought. Grabbing its bridle, Gawain quickly saddled the horse.

--

People were always depressed after someone died. True he wasn't exactly in his happiest of moods, but Galahad but had never truly understood the emotions of people around him.

Perhaps that was why the others always presumed him to be young and foolish. Now that Arthur had officially declared Mark dead, he really was the youngest now and it didn't settle well with him.

He did miss Mark, everyone did. But everyone always seemed to like someone a lot more once they were dead. It was yet another thing Galahad did not fully understand, but for now he was alone, stuck at the wall, with his own thoughts. Thoughts that no morally inclined man could ever agree with.

Arthur had joined him at least an hour ago. They stood side by side silently. Galahad had never been good with talking to Arthur and Arthur like wise.


End file.
